


indrid cold says sporto rights

by bellafarallones



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Other, Reader-Insert, morosexual indrid cold/thembo reader insert, most of the humor is from how chill they are, the reader character is a very chill jock, they/them reader because they/them author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellafarallones/pseuds/bellafarallones
Summary: You were messing around with a basketball on the court behind the library - green concrete, faded white paint lines - when your boyfriend told you he could see the future.
Relationships: Indrid Cold (The Adventure Zone)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	indrid cold says sporto rights

**Author's Note:**

> is there an active discord for indridfuckers? if so please consider this my application to join

Jake Coolice was not in the habit of visiting the mothman, but he knew enough to not bother knocking. Sure enough, the door to the Winnebago opened as soon as his neon sneakers hit the top step.

“Did someone tell you I give frivolous prophecies by request?” Indrid demanded.

“Nope.” It was late summer, and inside the Winnebago was just as sweltering as outside. “I have this friend who just moved here, and they’ve been complaining about how Kepler Tinder is totally dead. They said they’d buy me a beer if I found them a date, since I apparently know everyone who’s anyone in Kepler, and I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction.”

Indrid suddenly collapsed onto his couch, rubbing his temples.

“You good, homeslice?”

“Give them my number.”

Jake pulled out his phone and typed something. “They did say they could be into an older guy.”

“ _ Older?  _ Wait, how old do I look like I am?”

Jake squinted. “You could probably pass for thirty? You’re lucky, I’ve never not been carded. Anyway, do you owe me a favor that I don’t know about? I don’t want free beer badly enough that I’d cash in my one Indrid Cold favor for it.”

“No, I don’t owe you a favor. I just -” Indrid took a deep breath and a steadying sip of eggnog. “I just saw some futures worth fulfilling.”

\--

You were messing around with a basketball on the court behind the library - green concrete, faded white paint lines - when your boyfriend told you he could see the future. Indrid was swinging his legs on a bench behind the basket, watched you dribble from the half-court line and sink a layup,  _ swish,  _ and said your name.

“Yeah?” You caught the ball easily and turned to him. You’d been showing off a little bit, because he was handsome and you liked his eyes on you.

“I can see the future.”

“Sick,” you replied. “Am I about to make this next shot?”

“I don’t need future sight to know you’ve made every shot you’ve - oh. No, you are not going to make this shot.”

“Yoo!” you yelled, and launched the basketball backwards over your head. It did not go into the hoop. Instead it bounced wildly across the grass and rolled to a stop a few feet shy of the parking lot. You jogged to get it, and when you came back Indrid was smiling. 

“Seeing the future’s pretty cool,” you said. You figured that he’d had this conversation before, and thus knew what kinds of things were important to tell people. 

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s more like I can see… possibilities. And it’s clearest only a few minutes in advance. It’s why I sometimes say things at the same time as people, from being a few seconds ahead.”

You paused, ball in hand, running your fingers over the raised dots like goosebumps on its surface, and thought as hard as you can about walking over to the bench and kissing him, like it was something you were about to do. 

He was blushing. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Hell yeah, man.” You dribbled the ball a few times,  _ thump thump thump,  _ and made another layup. The graying net swayed, and the ball bounced once before you recaptured it. “Is that why you wear those glasses all the time? Are they future goggles?”

“No, they’re not future goggles.”

You shrugged. If he wanted to elaborate, he would. You’d worked up a good sweat, running back and forth against the court in the West Virginia heat, and your muscles felt warm and loose. You walked over to the bench and plopped down next to him. “Can I put my arm around you even though I’m gross?”

He nodded, and you scooted closer, looped your arm around him and rested your head on his shoulder. His skin was cooler than you would have expected, pleasant against yours.

“Are most people as good at getting the ball into the hoop as you are?” he said. “Because you’re very good at it.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I mean, layups are pretty easy, but I was on the basketball team in high school, so that probably counts for something.”

Indrid bit his lip, considering. “Can I try?”

“Be my guest.” You offered him the ball, and he took it gingerly, as though it might bite him. Then he stood under the hoop and launched the ball up into the air, terrible form, no follow-through with his arms. It rose straight up, nowhere near the hoop, and almost hit him in the face on the way back down. 

“I knew that wasn’t going to work,” he said when he caught it. You were too busy laughing to reply. “This would be easier if I wasn’t on the ground,” he continued, and held the ball up again. 

Three or four times he looked between it and the hoop and readjusted where he was standing or how he was holding it. He didn’t have to try a shot to know how it would turn out. “I’m going to try again,” he said, and threw the ball. He looked a little absurd, jumping too high rather than bending his elbows, but the ball bounced off the backboard and into the hoop. 

You clapped. He clasped the ball to his side and bowed like an opera performer.

\--

Hollis had wrinkled their nose when you invited them to a Super Bowl party at Amnesty Lodge. “The people who live at the lodge… there’s something strange about them.”

“Yep,” you had said. “So are you coming? I need to know how much dip to make.”

Clearly your bean dip was good enough to force a truce even between Hollis and Jake, because Super Bowl Sunday arrived, and everyone had promised to come.

“This is a lot of food,” said Indrid when you picked him up. The inside of your car, indeed, resembled a Golden Corral.

You shrugged. “I couldn’t trust anyone else to supply the goods.”

Indrid removed the seat belt from around a crock pot full of tiny sausages and settled into the front passenger seat with it on his lap. “Barclay’s good at food.” 

“Yeah, but dinner food and party food are two totally different oysters, babe. I can’t believe the Lodge never had a Super Bowl party before!” You slapped the top of the steering wheel for emphasis, and Indrid hummed wordless agreement. 

Indrid was wearing one of your sweatshirts, which you’d loaned him a few nights ago when he started shivering on a walk, and your heart flipped at the sight. Any vague idea of ever asking for it back evaporated. Maybe you’d steal some of his clothes as payback instead.

“Wait, holy shit,” you said. “You already know who’s gonna win.”

Indrid blinked. “Well -”

“Don’t tell me! Don’t you dare spoil this for me.”

“Alright,” said Indrid primly. “I was going to say, my visions don’t usually extend that far in advance with any degree of certainty anyway.”

“Good. We can experience this together, then.”

Your guest list strained the parking lot of the Lodge, but you’d arrived early enough that you got a spot right in front of the front door. Indrid kept the crock pot cradled to his chest, and you balanced a pyramid of two-liter soda bottles on top.

“Wow,” you said as he carried it all without complaint. “You’re stronger than you look.” You patted his bicep appreciatively, and he gave a winning grin. You followed him inside with your arms full of chip bags. 

Aubrey and Dani rushed immediately to take everything off your hands and plug in the crock pot. Indrid immediately peeled off to claim the chair closest to the fire. “Can we start eating this stuff now?” Dani said.

“Hell yeah!” you called over your shoulder as you went into the kitchen. “Why else would I have brought it?”

“Hey,” said Barclay without looking up from the stove, where he was pan-frying homemade tortilla chips.

“You know Leo sells chips, right?” you said as you unpacked cans of beans and a tub of sour cream. 

“Yes,” Barclay sighed. 

“Do you have any taco seasoning?”

Barclay looked absolutely scandalized. “I have the component spices that comprise taco seasoning.” He turned away from the stove for a moment to open the appropriate drawer, revealing a cornucopia of spices, each bottle labeled on the lid in his neat hand. 

“Sick,” you said, and pulled out your phone to google what went into taco seasoning. 

“When you get a chance could you taste this guacamole?” said Barclay. “I don’t know if it needs more lime.”

You swiped one of his still-warm chips and took a bite. “Delicious. I think it’s perfect, guac is supposed to be creamy.”

“Great. Thanks.” He looked to see that the kitchen door was closed and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I asked Joseph what his favorite party food was, I hope he likes it.”

“I guarantee you he will,” you said, nudging his shoulder as he carried his chips and guacamole out of the kitchen. 

The woods outside the lodge were blanketed in snow, but inside was warm enough for even Indrid to be comfortable, curled up with his feet underneath him in an armchair next to the fire. He could hear laughter from the other side of the room, but he just stared contentedly into the flames, watching them flicker. 

“Yes,” he said without looking around. “This is their sweatshirt.” The hoodie he was referring to was bright orange with ILLINOIS written across the front in navy-blue letters. 

“I didn’t think you owned anything that color.” Barclay had appeared behind him, leaned on the back of the chair. “You know there’s a reason we don’t get too close to humans.” 

“In my case, because they freak out. But they’ve been… very calm about everything. Jake Coolice-level calm, or Duck when he’s had a bunch of weed.”

“How much have you told them?”

“Not everything.”

“They deserve to know the whole truth.”

Indrid turned around to look Barclay in the face. “Yes, but that’s rather rich coming from you.”

“I’m not going around wearing his sweatshirts.” Peals of laughter from the other side of the room diverted Barclay’s attention.

“Holy SHIT,” Jake was saying. “I cannot WAIT for Super Bowl sixty-nine.”

\--

You had not planned this jog well, and night fell quickly in these last dregs of winter. You were still out in the woods, it was getting dark, and you’d just heard a very questionable noise.

What noise did bears make? Probably not this. You knew foxes sounded like a crying baby, so it definitely wasn’t a fox. You shuddered under your fleece quarter-zip. There was a thick tree just to the side of the path whose trunk was free of poison ivy, and whose lowest branch was within reach. And so you climbed. 

You knew that wasn’t what you were supposed to do with bears, but this probably wasn’t a bear. You stopped maybe ten feet off the ground, leaned against the trunk with your legs dangling off either side of the branch. Once you got comfortable, or as comfortable as you were going to get, you switched off your headlamp and listened to the forest breathe around you.

That was one thing about you, you weren’t scared of the dark. Darkness was lying on the day-warmed roof of your family home staring at the stars, darkness was late nights in high school with your friends in a parking lot somewhere, feeling invincible. 

The darkness now was so total that closing your eyes had no effect. It was still too early in the season for leaves, and so you heard nothing but the wind pressing gently on the branches, and rustling beneath you as small furry creatures went about their nightly business.

When you opened your eyes, the darkness was interrupted by two glowing red eyes, huge and very close. You almost fell off the branch. Instead you managed to get your headlamp on, and squinted in the sudden light. 

The mothman. A face dominated by those glowing eyes, majestic wings sharing shoulder-space with two sets of human arms, human legs straddling the branch just in front of you. He was wearing a pair of sunglasses with red lenses on a cord around his neck, the same kind of glasses Indrid always wore.

“Nice glasses,” you said. Apparently they were more of a trend in Kepler than you’d thought. 

“Oh,” the mothman said, in a voice that was achingly familiar. “Uh.” And he put the glasses on over his huge glowing eyes and there was Indrid, wobbling a little, gripping the branch hard. “I’m the mothman?”

“The statue was right about your ass. It’s truly excellent.”

Indrid laughed. Then he took the glasses off and was the mothman again. “Thank you.”

“So what brings you to this… tree?” you said. 

“There’s a monster from another world running around in the woods, and I was wondering if you might like me to escort you home.”

Normally you didn’t back down from a fight, but a monster from another world was a little out of your wheelhouse. “That’d be great, actually.”

He inched closer to you on the branch. “I don’t carry people much, so I don’t know the best way to go about this - put your arms around my neck? I promise I won’t drop you.”

You did as you were told, found him sturdy beneath the thick fluff. His arms, much bulkier than they were in his human form, circled protectively around your back, holding you to him.

“Hold on tight,” he murmured into your hair, and then you both tipped sideways off the branch. You shrieked a little bit, but his wings beat fast and strong, and then you were flying, though it was as jerky as the last few moments of a plane ride, when the aircraft bumps along the runway as though it’s not sure it wants to stop. 

Even in this form, his smell was familiar, comforting. You wrapped your legs around his waist below his wings and buried your face in his neck.

He put you down next to your car. “Are you coming with?” you said, looking up at him. He was at least eight feet tall. Of course he’d found basketball frustrating in human form. 

“As much as I’d like to, I can’t. The whole monster-from-another-world situation, I’m sure you understand. I promise you’ll get home safe.”

You looked up into his glowing eyes, as inscrutable as the red light of a distant cell phone tower. “Kiss me goodnight?”

He put his glasses back on and kissed you, gently. “Sleep well, my dear,” he said, and pressed his cheek for a moment against yours. 

Then he was the mothman again, bent his knees like he was about to sink a layup, and leapt into the air. 

You texted him as soon as you got your front door locked behind you.  _ Made it home safe. Let me know if you need anything, if I was fighting a monster from another world I’d want McDonald’s after.  _

Then you went to sleep with your phone in your hands against your cheek so you’d wake up if he got back to you. It buzzed you awake at close to three in the morning. 

_ if the offer still stands, i could demolish a mcflurry right about now _

You smiled.  _ What do you want on it? _

When you got to the campground you barely had time to get out before the door to the Winnebago opened, silhouetting Indrid’s skinny frame in light. You climbed the steps with a McFlurry in one hand - M&Ms staining the vanilla ice cream with streaks of color - and an order of fries for yourself in the other. Your hand brushed his as you passed off the ice cream.

“Thank you,” he said, sitting down on the couch to eat. “For everything.”

“Do you mind if I -”

“-steal some?” Indrid held the cup out for you. You used a couple of fries to take a bite of ice cream, and then for a few minutes you ate together in silence.

There was a shallow scrape on his upper arm, and it occurred to you that he’d been fighting something with the capacity to fight back. “Can you move your knees and ankles alright?” You’d broken your ankle once and it had been the  _ worst.  _

“Yes?” He demonstrated, swinging his legs and rotating his feet.

“Great.” You turned on your phone flashlight. “Look at me for a minute?” 

He turned his head, and his pupils contracted at the light. 

“Great, you’re not concussed. And we’ve reached the limit of my medical expertise.”

Indrid smiled into his McFlurry. “Am I going to pull through?”

“I think so. You’re a fighter.”

His hand in yours was cold from holding the McFlurry, but that was alright. And you thought as hard as you could, as though it was something you were about to say out loud, so that it would hang there in the future,  _ I love you.  _

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up at @bellafarallones on tumblr


End file.
